


The Many Ways We Meet (and Part)

by kathakoito



Category: Heneral Luna (2015)
Genre: M/M, gross historical inaccuracy for gratuitous fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 15:25:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11626407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathakoito/pseuds/kathakoito
Summary: There has to be something that drew them to each other, something more than this war.





	The Many Ways We Meet (and Part)

There has to be something that drew them to each other, something more than this war. Mabini could have served a multitude of leaders; there was never a group in colonial Philippines that turned down an offer of help, not even a paralytic’s. And why was he the one called on by the President? Amidst all of the great men and women clamoring for glory, he didn’t compare. Everyone wanted to be close to the President. What made him different?

—

Mabini was a Chinese trader’s son. His delicate hands produced the beautiful blue patterns that adorned the ceramics that the elite of the Namayan Kingdom loved. He had always wondered where his products would go, what kind of people would marvel upon them, as his father often sailed with other merchants to distant shores. He was sixteen when he would wonder no more, as his father thought he would be old enough to make the journey with him and learn how to deal in foreign lands.

Aguinaldo had been the Lakan’s firstborn, a warrior adorned in tattoos, silk, and gold. He had been escorting his mother at the beach as she surveyed the wares of the traders. Mabini had been so enamored when he first saw him that, upon returning home, he had painted those tattoos absently, instead of focusing on his work. He ended up wasting several bowls, to his father’s annoyance.

Mabini would never again see the Lakan’s son. He would never again cross the sea the moment he took a great illness and never recovered.

—

The President was looking at him now, and Mabini could feel it. Doubt. It was look he was used to receiving after he lost the use of his legs. He was ill, and weak from travel, but he still had a mind that would be of use to the Philippines. He knew this well enough. He didn't want to live the life of a dying man, lying in bed, waiting for other men to improve the world for him. He didn't want Aguinaldo to think that would be his life in government service. Before the President could think to dismiss him, Mabini spoke.

—

Aguinaldo was the Datu’s fifth son and Mabini was the son of a Babaylan, and by his fifteenth year, a Babaylan in his own right. He was touched by the divine, of that Aguinaldo was certain. Aguinaldo had never been drawn to a man before, but Mabini was different. He spoke with the wisdom of the Gods, the mouthpiece of the supernatural who must never be tarnished by the physical and the living.

“You have your father’s favor and the blessing of the gods and goddesses. You will become Datu over all of your brothers,” Mabini prophesized.

It was the first time Aguinaldo heard him speak. Often, Mabini counseled his father, but he was never one of the privileged to hear him. It chilled him to his bones. He was a warrior and a noble, ambitious, brave, and proud, yet he wept at the privilege of hearing Mabini speak.

—

The President heard the conviction in Mabini’s voice. It said more than his words. He spoke of service, gratitude, how he was humbled by the President’s summons, and eager to work tirelessly for the nation. Between the lines, the President heard the same passion that burned in his heart. Aguinaldo took Mabini’s hand in his.

—

Aliping sa gigilid, Aguinaldo thought as he surveyed the spoils of war. A few young men and women were captured, able-bodied and submissively staring down at the dirt as he passed, but he didn’t know which one to take as his. Some dared to stare at him accusingly - Timawa, perhaps. He could fetch a fine price for picking them, if some of their family survived and were willing to pay ransom for their return.

He stopped in front of a young man, quiet and calm in spite of the terrors their village endured. Somehow, he felt familiar.

“I’ll have this one,” Aguinaldo told his fellow warriors as they too took their pick.

“No one will pay for me. I’m the last of my line,” the man said.

“I don’t care,” Aguinaldo replied. “I’ve no intention of giving you away.”

—

Mabini wept as he wrote his resignation letter, but he dared not spill a single tear on the paper. He would not let Aguinaldo know how much he wanted to stay.


End file.
